There is a lot of talk about the need for renewable energy, and our addiction to foreign oil, and the rapid way we are destroying the planet. People want massive solar power plants and wind turbines as far as the eye can see. Well, fine, we may need to stop burning fossil fuels, but I’ll tell you what: wind turbines? Not in my back yard, or so help me God I will fucking cut you.
If you even think for a second about putting a wind farm near my house, I will come to your home while you sleep and beat you to death with your own ornamental stairway railing. I’m not arguing with you about how important wind power is; I just don’t ever want to see one of them within 275 miles of my home. I live in peaceful, quiet country, where neighbors treat each other with respect, where our 6,000 square-foot houses need room to breath, and where the rolling hillsides should not be interrupted by giant white monstrosities whipping their blades around at 1,000 miles per hour. So don’t even fucking consider it.
And I haven’t even addressed my summer home at Cape May. I mean, I’m honestly getting choked with rage right now as I consider the possibility that you might soil my view of the sublime, endless ocean with two-inch high turbines 15 miles out to sea. If I so much as sniff a plan for an offshore wind farm within a week’s yacht ride of that house, you and all your commie, crunchy friends will be hunted down and slaughtered, one by one.
Look, take a lesson from the oil companies: they never tried to foist their energy infrastructure on we well-meaning, humble and hard-working denizens of the country’s top tax bracket. Are there pipelines that could burst into flame near my summer home? Are there giant oil tanks in these pleasant rolling hills around my house? No. You know where they are? Near poor people, of course. So please, renewable energy mavens: keep your turbines where they belong, or I will feed your face into a high-powered ceiling fan.